


Buckshot & Wolfsbane

by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Muggles, Remus Lupin Lives, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Young Love, how do y'all do this, i don't understand how tags work, oc is a muggle deal with it, remus is getting all the fluff and happiness in this story, sad boy made happy, she's got a gun and she's not afraid to use it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondTheHorizonIsHope/pseuds/BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: In the summer of 1977, just shy of his final year at Hogwarts, Remus Lupin fell in love with a muggle. How he even came to know this muggle was quite the tale itself.She’d shot him.During the full moon in the month of June, Isabeau “Bo” Dunn heard strange noises outside her family’s farm. Upon investigating, she discovered what she thought was a wolf, and took her father’s shotgun to the creature when it tried to attack. Then the sun rose, and the wolf was very much not a wolf anymore. In sheer panic over the possibility of murdering someone, Bo didn’t even consider the impossible event she had just witnessed and instead focused on keeping the stranger alive.And that was that. They spoke to one another, they laughed, and hardly spent a day apart over the summer. He’d found someone willing to accept him without a second thought, and she’d found an inquisitive spirit that her small hometown sorely lacked.But his world was on the brink of war, and no one was safe. Not a wizard, not a werewolf, and certainly not the woman who loved him.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

_On the second of June 1977, Isabeau Dunn shot her future husband, Remus Lupin._

_Of course, at the time, she was not aware that she was indeed shooting her husband-to-be, or that she was even interacting with a human being at all. It was a full moon on that particular night, and as everyone knows, a werewolf is hardly the chatting sort…_

* * *

Their story began in Bibury, a picturesque little town in the Cotswolds where nothing ever happened and whose residents were content to keep it that way. It was just after four in the morning, an hour in which most things were quite still, save for the one-eared tabby named Baxter, who hissed at the window in such a vile manner that it roused young Isabeau from sleep.

She glared at him with one eye over the edge of her pillow, mentally willing the tiny beast to calm down. When he did not, she took said pillow and tossed it at him. Baxter hissed louder, beating the thing into submission before fleeing from her nightstand into the closet.

"Ruddy cat," Isabeau groaned before turning over, already missing her pillow, but completely unwilling to retrieve it.

It was as her consciousness was beginning to slip that Isabeau heard a curious noise outside. The sound of something large scraping against the house, grinding against the rock that served as their walls.

Now, the Dunns had lived and worked the land of Bibury for the last one hundred years. They were sheepherders – damn good ones too – coming to regard their flocks as more precious than their very lives. As such, every member of the Dunn family tended to be overly curious and underly cautious, a trait Isabeau was the proud recipient of.

Had she thought better of it, Isabeau would have left well enough alone – their lands were at the edge of a thick spot of trees and all sorts of horrid noises lurked there – and nothing would have come of the creature stalking about outside. But then, she would not have been a Dunn, and there would be no story.

Instead, she rolled out of bed with a sigh and grabbed her coat strewn haphazardly across her desk.

Half awake, Isabeau shuffled across the cottage, utterly silent next to the sound of her father's snores from the other room. She briefly considered enlisting his aid, but decided against it. He would have to be up soon enough, and she wanted him to get some rest.

"C'mon, Major," Isabeau mumbled, nudging the large pile of fur on the ground. "Time to patrol the perimeter."

The mass, fully named The Major, was a wolfhound, and as proud a one as the name implied. He came up to Isabeau's chest, a gray behemoth that no other creature dared to cross, not the local dogs nor the ram of the flock, having learned a hard lesson two summers ago. So, the hound's pride, frustrating as it was, was warranted.

The Major huffed, stretching his long legs before joining Isabeau by the doorway as she threw her boots on.

Isabeau reached into the closet by the door, grabbing her father's double-barreled shotgun – resting between the broom and mop naturally – and tucking it under her arm. She took two shells from the shelf above and loaded them, grabbing a handful more for her jacket pockets.

Throwing caution to the wind may have been a trait of the Dunns, but they weren't complete fools.

A mist blanketed the ground that morning, burying her ankles in a shroud as she stepped into the yard. Though the sun was still well below the horizon, there was the barest hint of light covering the land, turning it from an inky black to various shades of gray and other dull hues.

The gently rolling Cotswold Hills greeted her, still and unchanging. Distant dots on the horizon informed her that the flock hadn't moved, so whatever stalked their property hadn't bothered with them.

Yet.

That motivation alone had Isabeau tightening her grip on the shotgun and turning to the backside of the house, where the local woods loomed over their property. She paused beside her bedroom window, examining the stones beneath it. Fresh dust covered the grass, scraped off by something. She felt claw marks embedded deep in the rock.

_I owe Baxter an apology,_ she thought.

The Major sniffed at the spot, his ears quickly flattening against his head as a deep growl emanated from his throat. He turned toward the low wall that separated the house from the woods, pointing.

Made of solid stone, the wall probably once came to her height, but had fallen into disrepair and lost much of it, more than half in some places. Isabeau made for the barrier, her shotgun at the ready, while The Major stayed at her heels.

Staring down the sights, Isabeau inspected the area, though there wasn't much to see. Despite the imminent sunrise, the light had yet to penetrate the densely wooded area, making it feel darker than even the night had been. Though her eyes were still well-adjusted to the dark, she couldn't make out much past the first couple rows of trees.

So, she listened, resting the barrel on the top of the wall, waiting for something to happen. She heard a bird singing its first notes of the day, the wind as it drifted through the branches, stirring the leaves, and still The Major's low growling as he sensed something she could not. It put her on edge, watching the unchanging scenery, but soon the adrenaline began to wear off, and Isabeau felt her eyelids growing heavy once again.

She might have even slept briefly, because where once there was nothing but darkness in the trees ahead of her, there was suddenly a pair of eyes, brightly shining at the edge of the forest, attached to a formless void. They gripped her, those eyes, watching with a curiosity and intelligence that she did not expect. Perhaps that was why she did not pull the trigger as it stepped out of its sanctuary, or perhaps it was still the sleep that clung to her body.

It was a wolf, or so she thought. Certainly no dog was the size of this beast, not even The Major. She didn't even think the pitiful creatures at the zoo were quite so large. And the eyes…

No, nothing had eyes like that.

Her musing was cut short when the creature suddenly bounded towards her. One moment, half a field stood between them, and in the next, she could almost touch the thing as it leapt toward her.

Isabeau instantly dropped, taking the shotgun with her as she ducked behind the wall.

The wolf cleared it easily, landing on the other side just short of slamming into the house. It turned to face her, all signs of intelligence gone, replaced by a ferocity that bordered madness. Snarling and frothing at the mouth, the creature barked once, baring teeth nearly the size of her hand.

In a heartbeat, The Major rammed into the creature, sending it sliding down the dew-covered grass. It recovered quickly, squaring up with the wolfhound before charging. The two collided, a mess of fur and teeth and snarls, moving so fast and violently that Isabeau could hardly make out where one ended and the other began.

Snapping from her stupor, Isabeau scrambled off the ground and brought her father's shotgun back up. She steadied herself, whistling once.

The Major dropped his attack, quickly jumping out of the way, leaving the wolf alone in her sights.

She fired.

Buckshot caught the wolf in the right shoulder, tearing off fur and flesh, leaving a red spray on the stones beneath her window.

Yelping in pain, the creature ran off, limping, but still clearing the wall as if it was nothing. Isabeau followed, aiming the shotgun in the direction it had fled. The wolf had already put significant distance between them, however, and her second shot did little more than clear some bark from the closest tree and scare a bird from its perch.

Still, she quickly reached into her jacket pocket, digging out two more shells and reloading. Injured and scared it may have been, but animals did funny things when put in that situation.

She stared into the forest, straining her eyes as she searched for any evidence of its return. But the light was growing stronger, the outlines of the forest thicker, and nothing in the trees dared to move. Even the birds had grown quiet.

A window flew open behind her, causing Isabeau to jump and nearly pull the trigger.

"What the devil is going on out here?!" her father shouted, hanging out the window with his own jacket half on. "Good God, girl, thought I was back in France for half a minute. Imagine my _relief_ when it was just my daughter shooting things."

Despite everything, Isabeau couldn't help but smile, turning from the wall. "So, you heard then?"

He pointed to the hearing aid in his right ear, thoroughly unamused. "I don't need these bloody things to hear a gunshot in my own backyard."

Sixty years old and the only thing wrong with Michael Dunn was his hearing. He claimed the Nazis took it, which was fine and dandy because he got their lives in exchange. Her father still had a full head of peppered hair, could move as well as any man half his age, and had a spark in his bright blue eyes that spoke of laughter and mischief. He'd taught her how to shoot at the ripe old age of ten and hadn't looked back since; he expected her to take the farm off his hands one day, since he no longer had Nicky.

"What'd you see?" he asked.

Isabeau turned back to the forest, scanning the area once more, but there was no sign of the beast. "I thought it was a wolf."

"A wolf? There hasn't been a wolf in these parts since…since well before you or I."

"I know that," she replied, bringing the shotgun off the wall and unloading it. "But you didn't see it, Dad. It was bigger than The Major."

At the sound of his name, the wolfhound trotted by, completely unaffected by his latest row. He stuck his head in her father's window for a well-deserved round of scratches.

"And I'm betting that didn't faze our boy in the slightest," her father said, obliging the hound. While The Major listened to her, no one made that wolfhound happier than her father did. "Bo needn't have bothered, isn't that right, old boy? You'd have driven off that creature yourself."

The Major barked.

Isabeau affectionately rolled her eyes. "Well, if it _was_ just a dog, it's the biggest one I've ever seen, and feral to boot."

Her father sobered then. "Did you hit it?"

"Clipped its shoulder. Thing still managed to clear the wall."

"Best skip breakfast then. If there's a rabid dog out here, the flock'll be in danger," he replied with a nod. "Bo, I want you to phone the Mayfields and the Wrights. Tell them to keep an eye out. You think you can track it?"

Her smile was prideful. "Better than you at any rate."

"That's my girl."

* * *

Briar had been Nicky's horse, a black gelding that still had an attitude and a tendency to drop a rider if it struck his fancy, but ever since her brother passed away, the beast had been gentler. If anyone doubted that animals mourned, Isabeau could quiet them with their story. But it wasn't something she spoke of often, out of preference.

Isabeau rode him through the forest, slowly covering the ground that the wolf had trekked across. She kept the shotgun at the ready, nudging Briar left and right with her boots whenever they needed to change their course. Ahead of them, The Major stalked across pine needles, pawing at the ground on occasion. Every time they hit a thick spot of blood, he would growl, and the time between those moments were growing shorter. They'd be on it soon enough.

She hadn't needed to bring Briar, but Isabeau had an inkling that she was right about the beast that attacked her. A wolf in England was something that would be of interest to everyone in the area. It would be best if she brought the proof back with her, and she wasn't about to drag the corpse through the trees on her own.

The little patch of woods had been rumored to be haunted for years, but of course, the Dunns had never believed such nonsense. If they'd been haunted, they would have seen something, but now Isabeau could not help but think of all the little stories told in the dead of night to little children who had no interest in sleep. She thought of those creatures they'd gone on about, snatching up souls who strayed too far.

She clutched the gun tighter and pressed forward.

Eventually, The Major halted in his tracks, lowering to the ground. They were at a clearing caused by a small creek that bisected the woods, the light of the morning sun finally penetrating the trees as they thinned.

Isabeau dismounted, tying Briar's reins to a low-lying branch. She inched forward slowly with The Major, ready for anything to jump out at them. Although she did not plan on the wolf being able to fight back, she hadn't planned on dealing with a wolf period, so she had to be prepared for any possibility.

Of course, what she did find was most certainly not amongst the numerous things she had braced herself for.

The sight was so shocking, that it didn't register in Isabeau's mind. There she stood, at the edge of the trees, pointing her shotgun at a form lying in the creek bed. The blood trail they'd been following led directly to it, to include a small pool of it forming around the body, yet that was not a wolf she was staring at.

It was a man.

"Oh Christ," Isabeau whispered, lowering her shotgun. "Oh Christ. Oh Christ. Oh Christ."

The more she swore, the more real it all became as Isabeau stumbled into the creek bed, little stones and water flying up around her as she ran toward the man.

"Good Lord, why are you naked!?" Isabeau exclaimed as she skidded to a halt beside the motionless man, not that he could have heard a word she said. He was unconscious, raggedly breathing as his arm slowly bled out into the creek, a victim of a very obvious gunshot wound to the shoulder. "I've gone and shot a bloody hippie!"

Averting her eyes, Isabeau leaned the shotgun on a nearby rock and quickly took off her jacket, lying it across the more offensive parts of his body. Only then did she kneel down to get a good look at him.

He was young, her age if she had to guess, but didn't resemble any of the teenagers from around the area, and she knew them all. There weren't many of them to begin with. Who was he then? If he really was a hippie, he'd come to the wrong area. This wasn't the city, and no one in town had time for hooligans of his nature.

Well, clearly, she'd shot him after all.

Oh god, she'd _shot_ him.

How could she have shot him? No one was there!

Isabeau smacked herself. "Get it together, Bo. One crisis at a time."

She placed a hand on the side of his face, gently shaking it, hoping to stir him. "Hey, can you hear me? Please tell me you can. I can't leave you here and I can't very well drag you out of this place on my own."

Blue eyes opened, confused and scared, but very much alive. Isabeau's relief was short-lived, however, as the man bolted upright, slamming his head into hers. She fell over with a shout, gripping her forehead in pain as she rolled around on the rocks.

"Alright," she hissed. "Maybe I deserved that."

When she opened her eyes again, the boy was scrambling to his feet, desperately clinging to her jacket so he wouldn't be completely exposed to her. His eyes kept darting between her and The Major, who had since jumped between the two of them, his teeth bared, one bad move away from attacking.

"Down, Major! You ruddy dog, he's not what we're after!" Isabeau shouted, sitting up and grabbing the wolfhound. He wasn't quite content with obeying however, dragging her across the rocks a few steps before she finally put all her weight into him and kept him still. "There we go."

The stranger was still staring at her, one arm barely keeping her jacket in place, the other still very much bleeding. He was trembling and pale, and looked ready to fall over with the slightest breeze.

And Isabeau did not know what to say to him.

What does one say to a naked, bleeding man covering up his nethers with their jacket?

She decided to start with the basics.

"Um…hi."

There was a pregnant pause, the two left sitting in awkward silence. The Major huffed and walked out of Isabeau's grip, leaving her back on the rocks. Even he'd had enough of their ridiculousness.

"Hello," was his eventual shaky reply. He sounded like he'd never had a drink in his life.

It was a start.

"Do you, uh, wander the forest naked often?"

Not a _fine_ start, clearly. She'd have smacked herself if she wasn't worried the sound alone would send him bolting through the trees.

"Not if I can help it, no."

They stopped talking again, gaping at one another, never mind that the stranger was slowly bleeding out from his shoulder.

Isabeau stood then, dusting herself off. She was wet on one whole side, but that hardly mattered. Rare was the day that went by where she remained clean.

The stranger stepped back. "I should…I should leave, yes, I shouldn't…shouldn't stay…"

"And go where? It's forest for acres, and you're not exactly dressed for the walk," Isabeau replied, gesturing to his…well, everything. The man looked down at himself, frowning and turning a very bright shade of red. "Just…stay there a minute. Please. You're hurt."

"I'll be fine."

"My arse, you will. You've got buckshot in your shoulder. Stay."

She pointed a menacing finger at him - a gesture her father insisted the devil himself could not withstand - and then turned to crawl back up the embankment. Briar still stood at the top, watching the forest with complete disinterest. If he'd heard any of the commotion below, he clearly did not care.

Slowly, she led the gelding down to the creek bed, where the stranger still stood, eying The Major. The wolfhound had yet to take his eyes off him.

Isabeau quickly unclasped Briar's saddle, gently lowering it to the ground and removing the blanket from underneath. She stepped forward slowly, half expecting the stranger to flee as she did so, not unlike many animals she had dealt with, holding out the blanket as an offering.

"Here, wrap yourself up in this. You'll smell like a horse, but you won't be quite so…exposed."

He looked between her and the blanket. "Um…do you mind if…"

"Oh!" she started, blushing herself and quickly closing her eyes, covering them with her free hand just in case. Of course, the poor boy wouldn't have been able to grab the blanket, not without dropping his other covering. His right arm was all but useless to him. She waited until the weight of it left her grasp, then turned away.

"Alright, you can look."

Isabeau turned back to see the stranger wrapped in the blanket, uncomfortable still but far less wary. Her jacket had been left on a rock.

He was watching her carefully, gauging her, those blue eyes studious and intelligent. She felt as if she was the one in the wrong place and not the other way round.

"We should, uh…we should get you to a doctor. Can't leave an injury like that untreated."

"No, no doctor," he replied, shaking his head fervently. "I just need to get home."

"And where's home?"

"Barnsley."

Isabeau scoffed. "Well, you're a little far off there. Bibury's a bit out of the way for wandering after hitting the pub too hard. How'd you get here?"

He grew quiet then and she could see the boy retreating into himself. Standing naked save for a blanket was probably not the best time to be questioned by a stranger who may or may not have shot you.

"Right, sorry, this morning is just…hang on," Isabeau stammered, retreating to Briar's side. She quickly cinched the saddle back on and tucked her jacket into one of the packs. With a soft click and a nudge from her boot, she got the gelding to lie down on the rocks. "Alright, get on."

The stranger blinked. "What?"

"You can't expect me to make you walk through the woods barefoot, do you? That shoulder won't be the only thing bleeding by the time we get back."

"No, I can't possibly-"

Isabeau whistled. On cue, The Major shoved into the stranger, making him stumble forward.

"I'm not asking."

* * *

The return journey was utterly silent.

Not one to ride with half-naked men, Isabeau took to leading Briar through the forest, making their exit far slower than their entry. She didn't mind too much. It gave her time to mull over the utter insanity that had just taken place moments before.

She knew she hadn't shot the man. There was no way that she would have missed a naked person glowing in the early daylight as she went to shoot the wolf. This left her with two other options. One, he'd been shot already and had stumbled into the creekbed, which was a whole other mystery in and of itself.

The other…well, that was just pure fantasy, but the more she thought on the situation, the harder it became to escape the possibility that the man and the wolf were connected in some way. He was shot in the exact spot that she'd hit the wolf, and moreover, didn't carry any marks from a man left wandering the woods overnight. She'd noticed his feet, how they were clean and bloodless, not even covered in mud. Unless he'd magically dropped from the sky, there should have been some indication that he'd been walking barefoot around the area.

But it was all just silly, there was no relation between the two. Perhaps it was the most extraordinary example of coincidence that she'd ever witnessed. Stranger things had happened during the course of history.

Besides, there were other things to worry about. Like the fact that he was shot and she owned a shotgun. If he didn't want to see a doctor, perhaps he didn't want to see the police either, but there was no telling what his parents would think.

Being arrested for attempted murder would certainly put a damper on her summer plans.

They emerged from the forest perhaps half an hour later, with the sun slowly making its journey to midday. The truck was still gone from the drive, meaning her father was still with the flock, which was a relief. More terrifying than the prospect of police was the thought of confronting her father with a naked young man accompanying her.

She wouldn't have to worry about attempted murder if her father flat out killed the boy.

After an awkward affair of trial and error when it came to getting the stranger off Briar, Isabeau led him inside, leaving the poor boy to stand awkwardly in the bathroom with a towel pressed to his shoulder while she rummaged through the attic. It gave her a wonderful respite from the constant sensation of his gaze.

They still had trunks full of Nicky's old clothes, surely something would fit the stranger. He was a bit taller than her brother, but anything was better than nothing at this point.

"What's your name?" she shouted suddenly, realizing that perhaps she ought to know it given her rather…extensive knowledge of the rest of him.

The house was silent for a long time. Isabeau had just started to believe that he would not answer her, until she heard his voice drifting through the rafters.

"Remus," he called. "Remus Lupin."

"Well, that's…quite the name," she replied, coughing as she shook out one of her brother's old dress shirts. "Mine's Isabeau Dunn. I can spell it out for you if you want it for the police report."

Perhaps it was just the distance messing with her hearing, but she thought he actually chuckled. "No, that's quite alright. I won't be filing anything."

"I can't say I'm not relieved," she said, climbing back down from the attic, and quickly tossing a pair of pants his way. "They're a bit short, but you're skinny enough to fit in them."

She returned to the hallway as he changed, opening the linen closet and sifting through the first aid supplies they had. Being a farmer meant the constant possibility of being hurt, and while most of the time it did not warrant a trip to the doctor – even if it did, one was loath to go – it usually required some form of treatment. Everyone in the household learned how to take care of themselves in some capacity.

Isabeau returned to find Remus standing in her brother's definitely short pants, causing her to giggle slightly as they stopped mid-shin.

Placing her supplies on the counter, she gestured for Remus to sit.

"I'd rather just go home, if that's alright."

She sighed. "Look, Remus, if you don't want to see a doctor, the least you can let me do is take the buckshot out. I promise, I know what I'm doing. My uncle Terry caught some in the foot last spring, and he's still kicking."

He was staring at her again; he always seemed to be debating something on the scale of life and death to her. Every decision he made had to be weighed for a considerable amount of time.

"Alright."

Awkwardly, he sat on the toilet, allowing her to properly look at the wound. Not only was he taller than her brother, he was _much_ taller than her.

Applying some rubbing alcohol to a rag, she frowned at Remus. "This is going to hurt."

"I'm used to it."

His statement gave her pause, but Isabeau quickly shook it off and got to work, cleaning and disinfecting his shoulder. True to his word, Remus was used to the pain, unflinching at the contact, as if she was only applying water. She would have questioned if she actually was if it weren't for the strong odor.

Almost an hour later, she was still picking out bits of buckshot, slowly combing over the entirety of the wound to make sure she hadn't missed anything, and doing her damnedest to ignore the body of the man beside her. It wasn't an attraction, just a curiosity. She'd slowly, then very quickly, began to notice scars. First it was one here and there, which was nothing, but then her eyes began to pick out two or three at a time. Very few were deep, but all were noticeable, little white lines criss crossing in unending patterns.

This led her, of course, to the very obvious scars across his face. They were old scars, faded on the edges, but still prevalent on his skin. He'd been attacked by some sort of animal – or several if his abdomen was any indication – which clearly explained why he was so used to the pain. He'd probably had much worse.

"Did you…um…" Isabeau started, unsure if she wanted to ask. His blue eyes turned to her. "Did you happen to see a wolf by any chance? Large, gray, very violent."

He watched her for half a moment before shaking his head. "Just that hound of yours."

The Major, who'd been keeping watch from the doorway, snorted.

"Right, of course. It's just that…you see…I shot a wolf, and now you're shot, which I'm sure has nothing to do with anything, but I find the timing of it odd and…oh never mind," she said, shaking her head. She grabbed the bandages off the counter and began to wrap the wound. "I'm talking nonsense. It was early and I wasn't seeing things clearly. I'm sorry that this happened."

"It's not your fault," Remus replied, his voice strong and firm. It was the most solid statement he'd ever given her, prompting her to look down at him.

She was caught up in those eyes again, and as she watched him, Isabeau was suddenly struck by why she was so fixated on him.

Those were the same eyes that had stared at her from the forest.

* * *

"What do you mean 'you lost him?!'" Sirius' image shouted from the fireplace. Both James and Peter physically recoiled from their friend's anger. They weren't normally the targets of his fury, but losing their werewolf pal in the middle of muggle territory certainly qualified them to be on the receiving end of it.

"Lost? No, I didn't mean lost. I meant, uh…temporarily misplaced and will recover shortly!" James replied unconvincingly. Peter snorted. He smacked him.

"It's not that we meant to," Peter said, staring at his feet. He never could look anyone in the eye, especially when he was guilty. "There were complications."

"An owl snatched Peter, stuck him up a tree," James continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Then he fell from said tree and knocked himself unconscious."

Normally, that would have made Sirius laugh, but mostly he was staring at them through the flames like he was witness to two of the greatest idiots of their time. That look was usually reserved for Lily.

"I'm coming down," he said eventually.

"No, no, no, we're going to find him. His parents are already out looking," James said as Peter stepped away from the fireplace.

"That's reassuring," Sirius replied, sarcastic as ever. "Did they decide to leave before or after throttling the two of you?"

"Hey, James."

"You know, they were actually nice about it. They like me."

"No one likes you, James. They just pity you."

"James…"

"Low blow, Padfoot."

"Prongs!" Peter shouted, finally getting his friend's attention. "Moony's outside in a car."

"He's what?"

Leaving the conversation behind, James looked out the window of the Lupins' new home, and there it was. A small, green, banged up car was idling in the street, with none other than Remus staring at the house from the small window.

"Bugger me, it really is him."

There was a proper _woosh_ from behind as Sirius made his way into the house via the floo network, promptly scattering ashes across the living room floor.

"Didn't I say not to come?" James asked as they rounded for the entryway.

"Since when do I listen to you?" Sirius countered, throwing the door open and bounding into the street.

Remus had gotten out of the car already, cradling his right arm. He was wearing a loosely buttoned shirt, but it was clear the arm was bandaged underneath. Still, that didn't stop the three Marauders from practically tackling their friend, ignoring the groans of pain emanating from him.

"Where've you been, Remus? And what happened to your arm?" James asked, stepping back to take a good look at his friend.

"I did," a feminine voice called from inside the car.

In unison, the three boys looked at one another, then ducked down.

There was, in fact, a girl inside, and a pretty one at that. Blonde hair, green eyes, and a lopsided grin at the three idiots gaping at her from outside the car. Remus could have done far worse for a night on his own during the full moon.

Her gaze narrowed as she looked to Sirius. "Are you…covered in ashes?"

"Fireplace incident. Nothing to worry yourself over," he replied with a wink, quickly standing up to waggle his eyebrows at Remus. "I knew you had it in you."

"What? No, I…why would you…"

James leaned further into the car. "What's your name?"

The girl tightened her hands on the steering wheel. "I'm not sure I want to give it to you."

"Oh, she's smart too," he said, standing up as well. "I like her."

"She isn't-"

Peter grinned up at him. "Here we were out all night worried and you were cozying up to that?"

"WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!"

Though it managed to quiet the group, it didn't wipe the smirks from their faces. Remus sighed, shutting the door to the car, just short of catching Peter's nose.

"Thank you for the lift," he said calmly, looking through the window. "Sorry again about…everything."

"I think I should be the one apologizing," she said with a soft smile, putting the car into gear. "But you're welcome."

"Come back soon!" James shouted, pressing his face into the window.

"Don't be a stranger!" Sirius called, following suit.

Remus batted his friends away, allowing the car to safely pull onto the road and out of the area. He watched the road for a while, choosing to focus on it rather than turn around and face his friends. Hopefully nothing would come of the day's events. The last thing he needed was her finding out the truth. He hated when the Ministry had to interfere with the lives of muggles.

And he hated to have to move again. They'd only just arrived.

"So," James started, interrupting his thoughts. "How'd you meet her?"

The young man shrugged, finally turning to face them again. "She took a shotgun to me."

They were silent for an unusually long time. Peter was the first to break it.

"What's a shotgun?"


	2. Questions of the Awkward Variety

_This is stupid. This is stupid. This is stupid._

Isabeau had been mumbling the phrase over and over under her breath for the last five minutes as she searched the bookshelves in the library, skimming over subjects ranging from mythology and the occult to nature and biology.

The last few days had gone by in a blur. Having successfully hidden the fact that anyone other than herself had been in the household – never mind how she was going to explain to her mother why a towel was missing when she returned from London – Isabeau had joined her father and their neighbors on the wild goose chase that was tracking the wolf. Their dogs, at least, had also picked up the blood trail, so she could avoid being labeled the village loon for the time being.

Without a body – and the trail having conveniently disappeared by the creek bed – they were left to conclude that the beast had simply fled. Still, the sheep dogs were sporting new wolf collars now.

Her time freed up by the end of the pursuit, Isabeau found her mind focused on Remus more than ever, her memory constantly drawn to those eyes. At night, she would dream about them. Sometimes, they belonged to the well-spoken boy, others the wolf, more often than not both, transforming from one to the other until she woke to the sound of a gunshot, covered in sweat and breathing hard.

This was the sort of thing one was supposed to leave well enough alone, a curiosity that was perhaps a little too dangerous, but she was a Dunn, and that was why she was in the library.

She wasn't an unfamiliar face in Cirencester – much of her youth was spent on long bike rides to the closest library – but the subject matter she often glossed over was far different.

And normal.

Instead of travel or history books, Isabeau held very dated copies of mythological analysis, supernatural studies, and other strange pieces. An older woman caught her grabbing a book for the occult and grabbed the cross around her neck. Normally, silly superstitious nonsense like that never bothered her – she was far more open-minded than most – but given the nature of what she was looking into, Isabeau felt a little unnerved.

Did they still accuse people of witchcraft?

The last book she had any interest in grabbing was, of course, well out of her reach. On her tip toes, Isabeau had simply managed to nudge it backwards, yet that did not stop her from attempting to continue. She'd just put her book pile on the floor instead and continued her futile attempts with two hands.

Never mind that a step stool was probably just down the aisle.

No, she _had_ to do this herself.

Her mother always said she'd gotten her father's stubbornness. Course, he always said she got it from her.

It was just as she felt as though her arm was about to pop out of its socket that another hand appeared, grabbing the unattainable volume with an ease she could only dream of.

"Here, let me," a male voice quietly said, offering the book back to her.

"Well, I almost had it," Isabeau lied, dropping down to accept the book. "But thank y-"

There were those blue eyes again, attached to that head of sandy brown hair. Remus Lupin was standing there in the library with her, holding her book, eyes wide as saucers. A red tinge began to crawl up his neck and into his cheeks, while Isabeau felt all the color leave hers.

He chanced a look at the book separating them.

_Never Cry Wolf_ by Farley Mowat.

The instant his eyes met hers again, Isabeau tore the book from his grasp, nearly tripping as she bent down to pick up the others.

_Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back._

Her mantra got her through the aisles quickly, never mind she nearly ran over the old woman from before, she'd made it to the checkout safe and sound.

Christ, she'd shot a wolf without a second thought but speaking to a young man in the library had her all but running for the hills. She'd never been the flighty sort. Confrontation, if anything, had always been a specialty of hers.

Then again, it wasn't like he was one of the boys from town out for a casual stroll. He was practically a stranger, and yet she'd seen his…

Isabeau cleared her throat and slid her books onto the counter.

"Bout time you showed back up," the librarian, Margaret, noted, grabbing her stack of books and paying no mind to her frazzled state. "I was beginning to worry something had happened to you. Maybe your father finally went and locked you up to keep the boys at bay."

_Ah, yes, irony._

Her father had become rather famous – or infamous – around the local area for giving a rousing speech about boys and their genitals and their relation to his shotgun should he catch any unsavory folk sneaking around his land at obscene hours. They'd had to unplug the phone for a solid week and he had to issue a public apology in church, but he didn't regret a thing.

Yes, Remus was terribly lucky her father hadn't been home.

"I've just been busy," Isabeau mumbled, attempting to get her breathing under control and fighting the urge to look around. "With mum out of town, someone has to look out for the old man."

"I'll be hearing none of that now," Margaret chided half-heartedly. Silver wisps of hair fell from her bun as she shook her head. "Your father is a good man."

"And old."

Margaret took the wolf text and bopped her on the head.

"Doesn't sound hollow," she observed. "S'pose you've been reading then."

Isabeau brushed her off with a smile, feeling more relaxed already. Margaret had always been like family to her – and very nearly was if Terry hadn't been a git – and knew exactly how to calm her. She wasn't the prying sort, but she knew when things required her attention; she'd become a sort of confidant over the years when Isabeau felt her mother or father weren't suited for it.

Her first kiss, for example, remained a secret firmly planted between them.

"And my, what _have_ you been reading?" Margaret asked, looking between her and the rather interesting collection of books she'd acquired.

Isabeau bit her lip. "You're always after me to try new subjects."

"I'd meant something like classical literature not…whatever this is. Is this why Missus Hughes is in a tizzy?"

She grinned, thinking of the old woman. "Well, by the look of her, I'd say she deserves it."

The mythology book lightly tapped her on the cheek.

"Enough of that. Go on. Don't let me hear you've been reciting funny lines now."

With a wink, Isabeau grabbed her books and fled the scene, escaping outside. Her little green bike was left leaning by the entry, unlocked and untouched. Most people knew what belonged to who and would never bother with lifting anything, not to mention there would probably be at least five prying pairs of eyes that could name the perpetrator in a heartbeat.

A few faces passed by as she planted her books in the front basket of her bike, none familiar to her and certainly none belonging to _him_.

Perhaps Remus was as terrified of encountering her as she had been of him.

She supposed she _had_ shot him last they met.

Maybe.

Possibly.

She was still figuring that bit out.

Isabeau glided past the shops moments later, her mind half on where she was going as her bike weaved around parked cars and pedestrians. She'd travelled this route so often, she could probably do it with her eyes closed. The library had been her sanctuary as a child, where she could escape the confines of her day-to-day life with adventures in worlds that existed beyond her imagination. On more than one occasion, Margaret had given her a lift home when she'd stayed well later than she should have, and on one particularly bad day, she'd been locked in the building.

It was as her mind began to mull over her latest pest problem that someone stepped out into the street, grabbing the seat of her bike.

Isabeau shouted, feet flying from the pedals to keep her from flipping over the handlebars. Instead, she lost her balance, falling to the side and onto the street, her shoulder bouncing off the asphalt. Her books tumbled from the basket and scattered.

As her mind was processing the bizarre incident, she could hear the distinct laughter of three young men and suddenly everything made sense again.

She batted away the first pair of hands that entered her vision. "Tommy, why are you such a bastard!?"

"I didn't think that would happen!" the boy pleaded, stepping back as Isabeau stood.

Tommy Baker, Marcus Lee, and Randall Clarke were the three bellends she'd grown up with in Bibury. All sons of farmers, they'd been the only children she'd known prior to school. They'd managed to become almost indistinguishable over the years, each possessing the same nut-brown hair and wearing said hair in whatever way was the fashion. Meanwhile, her blonde locks were lucky if they got brushed in the morning.

However, Tommy had always been the ringleader. Taller than Marcus and Randall, with a stockier build, he was every girl's dream at school. Even Isabeau had harbored a crush once – which had resulted in the secret kiss that he would never let her live down – but as the years passed, it became unbearably obvious that she'd rather be with one of her livestock.

That said, their interactions had usually been friendly.

Usually.

She supposed their definitions of the word differed.

"Didn't think is right," Isabeau grumbled, setting her bike upright. "It's called inertia. Read a book sometime."

That was the problem with most people her age – the boys in particular. They were all destined to work on their family farms, not that there was anything wrong with it, but it led to a lack of interest in anything else. Studies were not a strong suit among kids her age and many rarely left the area.

Her father had always encouraged her to be curious about the world. Had it not been for the war, he likely would have stayed in Bibury all his life, and the experience had certainly shown him the benefits of knowing more.

Of course, he still had his expectations. Nicky may have gone to school in London, but he'd realized that one day he would have to take over the farm. Because of that, Isabeau had grown up with a sense of freedom he didn't have, but now that her brother was gone…

Needless to say, she was torn. Her father had taught her one thing and now expected another from her.

Maybe Tommy and his friends were better off in the end.

"C'mon, Bo, don't be like that! It was all in good fun!"

She huffed, stopping to grab her poor library books. "Good fun always ends poorly for me these days. You ever think of that?"

Four books in her possession, Isabeau reached for the last, only to have it pulled away by Marcus. She held her hand out, foolishly expecting to receive it. Instead, she got a wicked smile.

"For God's sake, Marcus, don't-"

Her book was airborne, flying easily over her head and into Randall's possession.

"Really?!" she shouted, glancing between them. "Are we ten?"

Randall's answer was to toss it back to Marcus.

Isabeau glanced at Tommy, but her 'friend's' response was to shrug.

"What are you reading anyway?" Marcus asked, flipping through the pages. "Not exactly school material."

He tossed it again as soon as she made a move.

"My mum would have a fit if she caught me with this," Randall said. "You planning on sacrificing something?"

"None of your business."

She faked out Randall, stepping close enough to make him toss the book before quickly turning on Marcus. Knee met groin, and Isabeau took the opportunity to grab her book before Marcus fell to the pavement with a whimper.

"Thank you," she said, retreating to her bike and placing the precious cargo in its basket. She could hear the boys snickering behind her, mocking their friend's misery.

Nicky had taught her to fight back. Boys would underestimate her, he'd said, and for that, she should be grateful. They were easier to take down that way.

"Hey, what are you looking at?"

Isabeau turned away from her work to see the boys staring down Remus. He was just standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching with an amused smirk on his face.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

And then he moved on.

"Creeper, that one," Marcus said, standing up again. "Moved into Bill's old place last month. Never see any of'em though."

Randall shook his head. "My dad swears they're Commies."

Isabeau rolled her eyes. "Your dad thinks Churchill was a Commie."

"You got proof he wasn't?"

Deciding it was a worthy sacrifice, Isabeau grabbed one of her books and smacked him with it.

* * *

Eventually, Isabeau pried herself free of the boys – though not before making them buy her something sweet to make up for being complete gits – and began to make her way home. It was a solid eleven kilometers between the towns, but the distance felt shorter every time she covered it.

Sometimes, when she was younger, she'd grab on to local vehicles driving by and let them drag her most of the distance. That was, until her mother caught her at it, and if there was one thing in life Isabeau feared, it was the fury of her mother. So, she took to getting home by her own means instead.

It wasn't so terrible a thing. The Cotswolds were a sight that never grew old to her, the picturesque hills dotted with trees greeting her at every turn, the locals waving their hellos at her and she to them, the flocks of sheep running across acres of grass with collies nipping at their heels.

She may have wanted to see the world, but she didn't mind calling this small corner of it home.

At some point, she caught sight of a figure walking on the side of the road, and quickly recognized them as Remus.

As she knew from their first meeting, his house was halfway between Cirencester and Bibury, yet Isabeau had convinced herself that she wasn't going to run into him for a third time that particular day. But life, it seemed, always had other plans.

She thought about just ignoring him, and at first, she did, speeding right past him into a sloping bend in the road; she felt his eyes on her, boring into the back of her head. He was probably thinking about the book she'd had, or what other books she'd possibly gotten. It felt rude, all of a sudden, to be reading into all these things about him, making assumptions about a boy she hardly knew. She'd accused Randall of being silly for calling him a Commie, and what was she out here doing but the very same thing?

So, Isabeau stopped, her bike grinding to a halt on the hill. She swung her leg off and turned around, walking her bike back to him.

Remus had, of course, stopped in his tracks and was watching her warily.

Enough was enough, she decided then. She was going to ask him what was going on, get a clear answer, and be done with it. With her curiosity set aside, Isabeau could move on with her life.

Except, when she finally got up to him, she couldn't find the words. She stared at him, a bloody fool who'd forgotten how to use the English language, while he looked anywhere but at her, his face going red again.

"So," she started, just able to resist smacking her face. "I was wrong."

Remus blinked, finally looking her in the eye. "What?"

"The, uh, book…I didn't almost have it," Isabeau said pathetically, her shoulders slumping. What a coward she was.

"Oh," was all he said, his hands going back into his pockets while his eyes retreated to the ground.

Isabeau stood there, watching him, at the very least confident that he wouldn't try to escape while she was standing there. His clothes were a little big on him, and older, definitely not the sort others her age would wear, but she had to admit, there was something fitting about it for him. His nature was already mysterious, so the idea of him dressing like everyone else seemed wrong.

With his face lowered, she could just make out one of his scars. She remembered all those other marks on his body, how unnatural it seemed on someone so young; she didn't even think her father carried so many.

He managed to look up again, and she caught that blue of his eyes. Suddenly, her lost confidence took hold of her.

"Are you the wolf that attacked me?" she blurted.

Utterly shocked and embarrassed, Isabeau slapped both her hands onto her mouth lest something else come spilling out of it. Unfortunately, that meant she was no longer holding onto her bike, and instead of falling into her, the blasted thing tipped right off the side of the road and into the ditch.

"Shit!" she shouted, scrambling after it, only to scramble right back up the hill when it looked like Remus was going to make a run for it. "Please don't leave! I'm sorry! That was very, _very_ rude of me. Can we just…can we just talk once I…shit!"

One of the books had fallen into a puddle, the muddy water seeping through the pages. She pulled it out with a desperate shout, mumbling curses as she shook the book back and forth, as if that would magically dry the thing out.

It seemed _Never Cry Wolf_ was determined to avoid being read by her.

As she mourned her book, which would undoubtedly take up a large chunk of the money she'd saved, Isabeau suddenly noticed Remus making his way down the hill. He picked through the tall grass, saving her other books from the dirt, pausing to read each title for a significant amount of time.

"I swear I'm not a witch," she blurted, as if he didn't know exactly why she had those books. It was sort of a default setting of hers. When in doubt, resort to terrible humor.

"I wouldn't dream of accusing you," Remus replied, actually laughing. He wiped off her books with his sleeve, gently cradling them in his arm. "Looks like these have been spared at least."

"That's a relief. I've never been so careless with library books before," she said, shuffling closer to Remus and holding out her book. "Do you mind?"

He shook his head, adding it to the stack.

Isabeau made her way to the bike then, halfway planted in the puddle itself. With a sigh, she yanked the poor thing out of the muck and hefted it onto her shoulders.

"Have you got that?" she heard Remus ask.

"Not to worry. I do this with sheep all the time. And the bike doesn't kick back." Isabeau replied, digging her feet into the hill and slowly climbing back onto the road.

Right as she did so, a car with none other than the three clowns from earlier drove up, brakes screeching as they stopped before her.

"Having a rough go of it, Bo?" Tommy asked, leaning out of the window.

Isabeau kicked his door in response, the car quickly speeding up and leaving the area, the sound of their mockery and laughter lingering in the air.

"Bloody pricks!" she shouted, holding her bike with one arm so the other could give them the much-needed hand gesture.

When she slammed her bike down onto the road, Isabeau noticed the middle-aged woman across the street staring at her. The little white dog she was walking was growling in her direction.

"Hullo, Missus Sanders. Lovely day for a walk, isn't it?" Isabeau lamely called out. The woman merely stuck her nose in the air and carried on, yanking the poor dog along with a yip. "Lovely…lovely day…Christ."

She leaned over, resting on her handlebars a moment, just willing the day to end already. The last two hours of her life had been the most embarrassing and frustrating all at once, and all she'd wanted to do was read a book from the library.

Well, there was a little more to it than that, but she didn't expect so much trouble over it.

"I take it you're not having a good day," Remus remarked behind her. She turned around and looked at him, his head just poking above the road as he still stood halfway in the ditch.

"I imagine it could be worse," she replied. His small smile quickly disappeared at that. "Can we…can we just forget I said anything and move along?"

He nodded once, climbing onto the road. "I'd like that."

They walked in silence for several minutes, neither really willing to break it. Remus was still holding her books, but she didn't feel like telling him to stop. Her basket was still a little wet from the off-roading excursion.

She'd look at him every once in a while, though it appeared he was determined to stare resolutely forward. Did looking at her make him uncomfortable?

Well, she probably couldn't blame him for that one.

"What were you doing earlier?" she ventured to ask, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Back in town, that is."

Remus cleared his throat, playing with the collar of his shirt. "I was…well, it doesn't matter now."

"What?" she pushed, looking up at him. His blue eyes briefly flicked to her before going back to the road. "C'mon, it can't be that bad."

"I _had_ been planning on doing something…I don't know, chivalrous, I guess?" he admitted with a sigh. "Then you very quickly proved you could handle the situation yourself."

Isabeau smiled, glancing back at her bike handles. "Yes, well, I grew up with those bellends, and if there's one thing I learned from them, it's how to not take their shit."

They continued on again in silence, but something about it was far more relaxed. She felt less afraid to break it and more like she was simply enjoying it.

"How's your arm?"

Isabeau had almost forgotten about that part, after all the other strange things that made up their first meeting. He hadn't been carrying himself like he was in pain, and was, in fact, looking much better than before, the color returned to his face. She hadn't even noticed he was using the afflicted arm until now.

"Oh it's…it's much better, thank you," he said quickly, shifting the books to his other arm. She looked between him and the books but decided not to say anything; she could play along.

Eventually, they came upon his home, another quaint cottage, though unlike many, this one had a second floor. There were little red flowers in boxes under the windows and around the small fence enclosing the home, and what appeared to be a garden growing on the side of the house. She glanced at the windows, waiting to see strange yet familiar sets of eyes peering out at them.

"My friends aren't here, I promise," Remus said, reading her mind. "They just come to visit once in a while."

"Probably for the best," she noted. "I'm not sure the town could handle them."

"Neither am I."

The silence had become awkward again.

"Mind if I have my books back?"

"Oh! Yes, of course," Remus replied, handing the pile to her. When she went to take it from him, however, he didn't let go. "Please, don't read into it."

He was looking at her directly, with no hint of fear or hesitation. It was as if his entire personality had changed. Remus looked bolder, determined, even his shoulders had stopped slouching.

"It's not safe."

"Why wouldn't it be safe?"

Remus sighed, glancing around for an answer. He'd clearly been hoping she would have left it at that, but Isabeau was never one for leaving questions unanswered, and Remus was nothing if not the biggest question in her life.

That debate was back in his eyes, the heavy responsibility between either decision, life or death, but whose life was he wondering about?

"Because I…because it's…it's very complicated and…"

"And anything you say is basically confirming what I already suspect?"

"I…" He paused, those blue eyes staring solidly into hers for longer than she was comfortable with, but Isabeau held that gaze. She'd do so all day if she had to. "Yes."

So, that was that. The coincidence of the wolf and the boy in the creek. They _were_ connected. But of course they were. How could they not have been?

Remus Lupin _was_ the wolf.

Isabeau couldn't help herself.

She laughed.

It wasn't funny, God no, of course not, but there was something so relieving about being right about the whole thing that had her breaking down into a fit of giggles. And Remus, the poor boy, was left staring at her like she'd gone absolutely mental.

Well, she probably had. The boy in front of her was a bloody wolfman and she was happy about it!

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she managed between giggles, taking deep breaths to finally calm herself. "It's just…I thought I was mad. I mean, I still might be, but not because of you or thinking you were…I mean, I _should_ be freaked out about this, yeah? I should be scared out of my mind and running for the hills, but honestly I'm just so relieved right now."

Remus blinked. "Why?"

Isabeau shrugged. "I don't know! Because…you are what you are and I'm not accusing you of being something you aren't?"

"What I am is dangerous."

She snorted. "Please, you caught me by surprise and I still almost killed you. I'm in more danger from my own clumsiness."

The utter shock and confusion on Remus' face was downright adorable, if she was being completely honest. She'd never seen someone so flabbergasted, so utterly unsure of how to proceed. He'd clearly braced himself for a multitude of reactions, none of which was remotely close to what he received.

"Are you positive we're talking about the same thing?"

"What? That you're a-" Isabeau caught herself then, noticing how Remus backed away and looked around the area. Right, crazy revelations aside, it wasn't something she ought to shout to the world. "-W-E-R-E-W-O-L-F?"

She ran over the letters again in her head after he didn't respond, hoping she'd spelled it right.

"And…you're not scared of that?"

Isabeau shook her head. "No, I don't think I am."

At that, his face actually lit up, and a large smile graced his features. It was how he ought to look, she decided.

"Um…do you mind if I take that book back? The damaged one, that is."

She grabbed her poor wolf book, handing it over. "Sure, but what for?"

"I may have a way to fix it, but you'll have to come back tomorrow, if that's alright."

For some reason, the prospect of that made her smile. "Sure, yeah. I mean, I have to go to the market in the morning, but I can drop by in the afternoon."

Drop by in the afternoon…to meet her werewolf friend. Yes, that was normal, completely and totally normal. Nothing weird about that sentence whatsoever.

She pinched herself when he wasn't paying attention.

"Good!" he said, a little too quickly by the look on his face. "That's…that's good. Yes, uh…"

Remus stopped, looking down at her book. If she didn't know better, Isabeau thought his scars might have been brighter.

"This wouldn't really help you anyway," he continued, gaze firmly fixed on it now.

"Well, I hope you can fix it then," Isabeau said, inching closer. "Wouldn't want to go through all this trouble for nothing."

Eventually, he looked up again, those blue eyes locking onto hers. They were so different now, she realized. Clearer, less guarded, perhaps even…happy? He looked like a completely different person, and it took all her willpower not to just bombard him with a series of questions right then and there.

Instead, she cleared her throat. "Right, I should…I should go now. My father is going to think I've gone and gotten myself locked in the library again."

"Again?"

"It's a long story…involves a wizard and a bunch of hobbits?" she stammered, retreating to her bike. She thrust the books firmly into the basket, glaring at them as if to scare them into not falling out for a third time that day. "I won't say anything, I promise. Not that anyone would believe me anyway, I mean, it's almost kind of nonsense isn't it? I mean, not for you but…"

He was smirking at her.

God, she really was the village loon.

"I'm going to stop talking now," Isabeau said, planting herself on the bike. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus."

She didn't even wait to hear what he had to say, biking off before something else foolish fell out of her mouth.


	3. Interview with a Werewolf

_Werewolves_ are real.

Werewolves _are_ real.

Werewolves are _real._

Isabeau had written those lines over and over again in her notebook, alongside several questions she'd thought up and a crude drawing of a dog, which looked more like a duck if she turned her head right. The Major was sitting with his head in her lap, enjoying her absent-minded scratches.

How was one supposed to react to learning such a thing? Well, besides laughing and basically inviting themselves over for afternoon tea. Should she be questioning her sanity? Shouldn't it be more likely he's humoring her for a prank? Should she just avoid him now? After all, Remus said it was dangerous.

No, that wouldn't do at all. Whatever was happening was completely insane, there was no question of it, but she hadn't been raised to look at the world with an open mind and welcoming heart to back out of that now. Eight years ago, people were put on the moon. Humanity had a penchant for the impossible. What was one more thing on top of the many?

Isabeau sighed, looking down at The Major. "I'm in over my head, aren't I?"

The wolfhound snorted.

"You ought to take up counseling. You're a very good listener."

He barked, and Isabeau gave him a good kiss on the head before returning to her notebook.

_Do werewolves have animal senses in human form?_

This was getting out of hand. Clearly it was Remus who needed to be worried and not the other way around.

"Now, I know that I'm just your mother," a voice called from her doorway, causing Isabeau to jump. The Major huffed, backing up as she pushed away from the desk. "But I'd feel a sight more loved if my daughter came to greet me instead of making me search for her."

"Sorry, mum!" Isabeau apologized, jogging over and wrapping the older woman in a hug.

Betty Dunn was a short woman, nearly a head shorter than Isabeau, with a kind smile and bright green eyes. Her brown hair was fading to gray, but there was still a youthfulness to her, much like her father. The country air, they said.

"She'd be in an early grave if she'd stayed in London," her father liked to joke. When she was sixteen, her family had sent her to Bibury to escape the Blitz. Some time after, Betty met Michael, and they hadn't gone back since.

"I was distracted."

"Well, I can see that," her mother replied, glancing over. Fortunately, her eyes weren't what they used to be and the most she would be able to make out was the drawing. "Is that a duck?"

"Yes," Isabeau said quickly, shutting the notebook and returning to her mother's side. "How's grandma?"

The two Dunn ladies walked side-by-side through the cottage just as her father returned inside with some luggage.

"She's getting on well enough. Missed you," her mother replied as one of her suitcases split open and spilled her clothes across the floor. "Not so much your father."

"I was taught to hate the devil. Don't blame me for being a proper Christian man," Michael said, ducking as her mother threw one of her dresses at him.

Half-heartedly, Betty went to smack him, only for her wrist to be caught by her father, allowing him to pull her in for a kiss.

They really were still in love after all this time. It always made Isabeau smile. They'd been through so much, and deserved the world.

* * *

Dinner had always been a lively affair in the Dunn household. More often than not, neighbors or relatives graced them with their presence and a fond evening of delightful stories was to be had.

Nicky had always been the star. There wasn't a man within a hundred leagues who could tell a story with as much fervor and skill. His vocabulary was second to none and his imitation skills borderline terrifying.

When he died four years prior, it took a long time for them to even sat at the table again.

Since her mother had just returned that day, it was only the three of them that evening, leaving her to regale them about everything in London. Most of the conversation was her, with the occasional input from her father, mostly mocking city dwellers and taking small potshots at her grandmother. He'd gotten a lump of potatoes on his shirt for that, and he stubbornly refused to remove it.

"I don't do the laundry 'round here," he triumphantly said. "Use the gravy next time, why don't you?"

Isabeau, for her part, had been mostly silent, save for one-word answers. Even the grand tale of her wolf hunt she'd left to her father. She was distracted, mind on Remus once again, nearly spelling out questions she had into the plate with her fork.

_Have you always been a werewolf?_

_Do you remember what happened that morning?_

_Is that why you have so many scars?_

She supposed that last one was a bit too personal. Maybe she did know his biggest secret, but that hadn't exactly granted her permission to know his entire life story. But she wanted to. Now, more than anything, she wanted to know about Remus Lupin.

"Bo," her mother said firmly.

Looking up, Isabeau found her mother staring at her, and her father nowhere in sight.

"Where's dad?"

"Gone to the neighbors to discuss the market. He said as much, not that you were listening."

"Oh," was her lame reply. She'd never been so absent-minded before.

"So, who is he?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Nothing makes a girl go quiet quite like a boy."

Isabeau tossed her fork onto the plate. "Oh, that's rubbish."

Not incorrect rubbish, but she wasn't about to admit that.

"No?" her mother replied, humming in amusement. "The last time something caught your attention so fully, you weren't able to keep your mouth shut. It was about the solar system and I can still name more floating rocks than I care to."

She could still vividly recall clinging to the small television at their neighbor's house when the Americans landed on the moon. That had been what started her excursions to the library.

The memory made her smile.

"Well then?"

Isabeau sighed. "Fine, I met a boy."

"I knew it!" her mother cackled. She was a horrible gossip and spent every Saturday morning with the other town gossips in the local café. Isabeau and her father usually made plans to be nowhere near the house when she returned, unless they wanted an earful about who was dating who or who was sneaking carrots out of gardens late at night.

Sometimes, she still managed to find them. One of those times, her dad legged it and they didn't see him for two hours after he vanished into the woods.

"But it's not like _that_!" Isabeau clarified, quickly on the defensive. The last thing she needed was her dad getting wind of the conversation and giving her _the talk._ "We just met under unusual circumstances is all."

"Oh? How so?" her mother asked, leaning forward on one hand.

_Shit._

She'd been so focused in getting rid of the romantic angle of the story, that she'd forgotten the elephant in the room.

He was a werewolf.

Honestly, she'd rather admit that than give her parents the idea that she was dating someone, but she was a woman of her word. She promised not to tell anyone and she meant it. Never mind that she was utterly useless when it came to lying; she would do her best.

"I met him…at the…library," Isabeau said slowly, dragging the words out against their will. It wasn't technically a lie, but the tone of her voice made her grimace.

"Ah, that's it," her mother said, looking at her like she'd figured everything out.

"What? What is it? What have I done?"

"Why you're still thinking of him, silly," she replied matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. "Blockheads like Tommy would never set foot in a library. You've found yourself someone you can finally relate to."

Isabeau paused, really thinking on what her mother said. She hadn't even considered the fact that Remus was in the library, only that he'd seen her. None of her friends would ever go with her, except the one time she'd managed to drag Tommy in. He'd gotten bored almost immediately and decided to grab her for a quick snog.

She still blushed whenever she entered the reference section.

But she guessed Remus had been there of his own volition, unless he'd followed her.

No, he didn't seem the type.

"Well, that doesn't matter. He's just someone to talk to."

"Mmhmm."

Isabeau glared at her mother. "Don't start. You'll get him killed."

She waved her off. "Nonsense. Your father can't kill what he doesn't know about."

"Yes, because you're so good at keeping secrets."

Her mother threw a napkin at her. "Go do the dishes."

* * *

Remus couldn't sleep that night. Well, he hadn't slept much any night since the full moon. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Isabeau when he'd attacked her, the terror reflected in her eyes. He could hear her panicked shout and practically smell the fear rolling off of her in waves.

Whenever he did manage to sleep, despite the imagery, he was always awoken by the gunshot moments later. Sometimes his shoulder would still pulse, despite being mostly healed at this point. A couple healing spells had done enough to keep him from bleeding. Now it was simply a matter of keeping his parents in the dark about it.

As far as they knew, he'd simply gotten lost and managed to stumble home. If they'd known he had been shot, much less that the girl who had done so suspected something, they'd be up and out of the town before the sun had set, and Remus couldn't bear the thought.

They'd never been rich, but had lived comfortably enough. But as the years went by and incidents became more common, their frequent upheavals had put a strain on both their savings and their minds. His mother used to be a strong woman, but she was sick more often than not now, no doubt due to the high amounts of stress caused by his condition. And his father took on longer and longer shifts for little more pay, simply to keep their heads above the water.

If they left now, it would have been the shortest amount of time they'd spent in one place. So, Remus took the gamble, if only for his parents' sakes.

Isabeau Dunn had no idea how much was at stake, and that it was all in her hands.

Sighing, Remus rolled out of bed and took a look at her mud-covered book.

"Wolves," he murmured, chuckling to himself.

Of course, she'd thought this would be something of use, but it was, in fact, the farthest from. He may have looked like a wolf when transformed, but he certainly never acted like one. He didn't hunt; he didn't have a pack. It just seemed that he was determined to attack every human he came across.

He grabbed his wand from the nightstand, flicking it in a familiar pattern. " _Reparo._ "

The pages flipped before him, mud and water stains vanishing before his eyes. He spent a few minutes glossing over the content, though his mind was never really on it.

She laughed.

She actually _laughed_.

The entire wizarding world feared and hated him for what he was, but here was a muggle laughing about the whole thing.

It really was a lovely sound.

He briefly wondered what she meant by hobbits as he settled into the book.

* * *

The sound of a gunshot had Remus bolting upright, immediately grabbing his wand to counter whomever may be attacking. But he was alone in his room, safe and sound, save for the crick in his neck from how he'd slept.

He looked down at the book he'd been reading – still that damn volume on wolves – and noted that he was nearly finished with the thing when he passed out on his desk. He struggled to remember most of the content as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

The house was quiet. His father had gone to work hours ago, and his mother liked to volunteer in the city to keep her mind off things. She'd left him a note saying as much, apologizing for not waking him, but she knew how little he slept lately.

Rain rapping on the roof caught Remus's attention as he picked an apple off the kitchen island. The light tapping very quickly turned into a thunderous roar as a downpour enveloped the countryside. He watched the drops quickly wilt the flowers outside the window, the weight of it all too much for them to bear, while a rabbit quickly scurried back into its hovel.

He allowed himself a small sigh of relief at the sight. While Isabeau could drive, she preferred not to, which she had told him time and time again as they made their way to his home earlier that month. The awkward lurching from the vehicle now and again only confirmed that fact. So, perhaps the rain would keep her away, if only for another day, just to give him enough time to think it all over.

Of course, as he thought it, the doorbell rang, and there, on his doorstep, was Isabeau Dunn, soaked to the bone, shivering, and looking like a kicked puppy as she stood there.

"So," she started, completely oblivious to his wide-eyed stare. "I might have gone to the library, again, because I read through all my books last night – didn't sleep a wink of course – but I didn't want you to think that so I may or may not have biked the long way back from town so I could bike to your house looking like I'd come from home rather than the library and God must not have liked that because he damn near drowned me a block away, and now here I am admitting it all to you anyway, so I really am _fucking freezing_ for no reason."

Remus blinked. She'd spoken so fast, he'd caught maybe half of what she said. He was still trying to comprehend that she was there. Yes, she said she would be but saying and doing were two very different things, he had learned.

"May I come in?" her quiet voice asked a moment later. "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll probably catch cold otherwise."

"I…yes, no, please, come in," he stammered, realizing how rude it was of him to keep her waiting. It was only after he'd shut the door – with Isabeau practically bouncing in the entryway – that he fully comprehended what she had said. "Was that…a big bad wolf joke?"

She laughed like a caught child. "You'll have to forgive me for that. I'm not one to resist a good tease."

He almost laughed himself. Yesterday wasn't some fluke. She really was okay with it all, to the point of humoring him. Perhaps, a part of him thought, that was exactly what this all was: a tease. A joke with a grand finale he would live with for the rest of his life.

"Um…do you have a towel…I'm tracking water everywhere."

"Right. Yes," Remus started, moving past her to a linen closet. "Sorry…I guess I'm just-"

"Surprised I'm here?"

"Yes," he admitted, handing her a small towel. She took it with a smile, gently pinching her blonde waves between her hands, before popping the whole thing over her head.

"I said I would be," she replied, voice muffled by her hair-drying effort.

"You did."

He watched her briefly – not transfixed just…well he didn't bloody well know what he was at this point – when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It was a picture in the living room – his mother and father on their wedding day to be exact – which normally he wouldn't have given a second thought to. But with Isabeau mumbling about the rain again beside him, Remus became painfully aware that moving pictures were, in fact, not considered normal in the muggle world.

While Isabeau was distracted with drying herself, Remus took the opportunity to sneak away and quietly flip the picture down.

He then did so with four others in view.

Merlin's beard, he had not thought this through.

Of course, he hadn't anticipated her coming inside. A nice afternoon stroll perhaps or just sitting out in the garden, but this was England so the rain would have to go and ruin everything.

What if his mother returned to see a sopping wet muggle in the house?

What if his father did _through the Floo Network?!_

"So, anyway, I – where'd you go?" he heard Isabeau call from the hallway.

"I'm in the kitchen," he replied, doing his best to pretend he wasn't about to have a full-blown panic attack. "Would…would you like some tea?"

Well, at least he'd always have his manners.

"Tea would be amazing," she sighed, wandering through the house into the kitchen. Her eyes briefly glanced her surroundings, not overly so, just the simple curiosity that comes from unfamiliar surroundings. She'd wrapped herself in this towel, grasping it like a child would their blanket.

Wordlessly, she grabbed a dishrag from the counter and stood on it.

She had good manners. His mother would like that.

"One of your pictures fell," Isabeau said quietly, probably observing his home still. He wondered if she expected something more…wolfish about it.

"Oh?" he replied, feigning ignorance. He'd never thought himself much of a liar, despite everything. "I'll get it later."

The only reason she probably wasn't grabbing it was because she had resigned herself to standing in that one spot lest she leave a trail of water across the house.

Small miracles.

They stood there in silence as the kettle heated, she looking around and he at her. He'd rarely used the stovetop to heat water. It was strange.

"You really believe me," he said, his voice so soft that he himself barely caught it. He thought (hoped) that maybe she wouldn't have heard it at all, but her green eyes were immediately focused on him.

"Of course I do."

"Why?"

Remus watched Isabeau catch herself, the smirk on her face fading. He realized she was probably going to mention finding him naked in the woods and promptly felt his face go red again.

Yes, that was still…a thing.

How he managed to get away without the other Marauders knowing that finer detail, he'd never know. It just never really occurred to them after he explained how gunshots work.

Isabeau leaned over the kitchen island, looking closer at him, to the point where he had to resist leaning away. She wasn't even that close to him. He just…wasn't much used to it.

"Your eyes," she admitted, her own narrowing as she strained to look at them. "You and that wolf have the same ones. No doubt about it. Intelligent and _very_ blue."

Remus didn't know what to say to that. Did he thank her?

Fortunately, the kettle began to whistle, freeing him from…whatever they were just doing. Staring mostly. But they were right back to it again when he was done, only there was tea between them, sitting untouched. Isabeau had curled her fingers around the cup, attempting to absorb the heat. He should have offered her a blanket.

_You still can, you dolt._

"I'm guessing you have questions," is what he said instead.

"Yes, I mean no, well yes, but not if you don't want to answer any. Then I don't. I'm perfectly satisfied," she said, paling as she stammered out an answer. "Okay, I'm not but I can live with it."

He chuckled at that, watching as she started to shake like an excited child. "Are you sure?"

"… _no_."

It was the quiet, almost guilty manner in which she said it that broke him. Shoulders shaking, he laughed until his stomach hurt, with Isabeau quickly joining him.

Who knew he could ever laugh about this?

"It's alright," he said after finally calming. "You can ask."

"Are you sure?"

"No," he admitted, wondering if he wasn't technically breaking Ministry rules. It wasn't about magic, strictly speaking, but it wasn't quite a muggle affair either. He supposed it didn't matter now. The Ministry hadn't kicked his door down yet, and she'd not told anyone. "But I want you to anyway."

Isabeau bit her lip, suddenly deep in thought. No doubt she had several unsavory questions and she was, fortunately, a kind enough person to not bring them up.

"Alright, um…" She spread her arms across the counter, fingers tapping on the surface. He noticed a bruise on her wrist from her fall the day before. "Have you…have you always been…"

"No," he said quietly, looking down at the countertop. It was made of wood, and he could count the grains if he wanted to. "I was four…he, uh…he came through my window and that was that."

He couldn't really remember the night, but sometimes he woke to the sound of a creature snarling in his ear, and his scars burning as if he'd just received them.

"Is that when you got those?" Isabeau asked quietly, and it was only then that he realized he was touching his scars.

Remus dropped his hand quickly. "Bad enough he made me this way. Had to mark me for the rest of my life too. Can't look in the mirror without…you know…"

Well, this was off to a lovely start. He shouldn't have insisted. Isabeau would have been fine not asking questions, and he wouldn't feel like absolute shit. Maybe he'd just crawl back into bed when she left. Didn't feel like a day to do much of anything.

"If it's any consolation, I like them," Isabeau said suddenly, causing Remus to look up and meet her gaze. She bit her lip, looking like the words had gotten away from her. "I mean, they look nice…on your face. I mean, it'd be nice if you didn't have them, but since you do they're…they're fine. Perfectly…perfectly fine."

The things this girl said. Sometimes, Remus just could not believe them.

"You're smiling again, that's good," Isabeau said with a sheepish grin of her own. And it turned out he was. "Why don't we try to keep it that way? Um…can you hear any better or smell things or anything like that?"

Remus blinked. That was a new one. Not even his friends had thought to ask him something like that when they'd learned.

"Should I be able to?"

Isabeau shrugged. "I don't know. Dogs can."

"I'm not a dog."

"Yes, I can see that, but you're not exactly human either," she said, wincing slightly at her word use. "I just thought maybe some of that might carry over."

He shrugged. "Never really thought about it. I've had this for so long, I wouldn't notice otherwise."

They carried on that way for nearly an hour, her asking relatively safe questions and him answering as best he could, their tea remaining untouched. She learned damn near everything. How he can't control himself, but will remember everything the morning after, how silver doesn't work like in the movies. He rather liked her suggestion that he just hide in the basement when the full moon came. It was a shame he'd tried that already.

"Oh, I should get going," she said suddenly as she glanced sunlight out the window. Remus ignored the disappointment welling in his chest. "My mum's back in town and that means we're back to inviting the neighbors over for dinner again. First full day back, she's got to go and make a show of it. Got ten others dropping by. Don't even have enough chairs."

She'd mumbled the sentence as she casually picked up the dishrag and wiped any droplets that had gotten away from it before tossing the thing in the sink, along with the towel, and turning to head toward the door. He watched her take notice of another picture lying down, which she thankfully did nothing with.

"I said I wouldn't be gone too long. I was just here to pick up my…oh my book!" Isabeau shouted, turning in place as her socks squeaked. "I don't suppose you worked some magic on it last night, did you?"

Sometimes he wondered if she wasn't messing with him.

"Something like that," Remus replied, heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time and returned to her side almost immediately with the book; didn't want her getting any ideas about fixing the pictures after all. "Good as new."

She took the outheld book gently, eyes wide as saucers, examining the front, back, and interior with such meticulous detail, he actually got worried the spell might have missed something.

"How did…what…you…you bloody miracle worker!" Isabeau cried, looking up from the book. "How on earth did you fix this mess?!"

Remus grinned, feeling a rare burst of pride in his chest. "Just a little bit of dedication and hard work."

It wasn't technically a lie. He had to learn the spell once upon a time.

"Little bit, my arse," she replied, eliciting a chuckle from him. "You weren't up all night, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Don't worry."

Isabeau narrowed her eyes, staring into his. She was looking for a lie. At least he could comfortably hold her gaze in this regard.

Her sudden smile was barely a warning. One minute, she was just standing there, and in the next, she'd wrapped him up in a hug. Remus was so stunned by the action that his arms remained steadfastly at his sides until she was done. But her warmth remained. Was that why his face felt so hot?

"Bloody lifesaver, that's what you are, Remus Lupin."

"I, uh…I try my best," he stammered, watching Isabeau tug her shoes back on with the book tucked neatly under her arm. He could hear her grumbling about how wet they still were.

"Your best is utterly ridiculous," she said with a grin, opening the door. "I love it."

She made it halfway down his steps before stopping.

"I don't suppose you'd want to talk again, would you?"

"You can't possibly have more questions."

She turned red so fast, Remus thought he was hallucinating. "No, sorry, no…I don't want you to think that… _no_. Just talk about anything, if you want."

He blinked, at a loss. Not many people spoke to him just for him. The boys, yes, and Lily, but most people did so because he was a Marauder, meaning he knew James and Sirius. They were the popular ones, not him. Of course, that had always been the point. The less people he knew, the less it would hurt when they eventually left him.

But she didn't know James or Sirius. She'd met them, yes – and looked none too pleased about it – but she wasn't out to get closer to them.

Isabeau just wanted to talk to him, and not about being a werewolf, _just_ _him._

"If you don't want to, that's okay. I can take the hit."

"What?" Remus asked, his musing disrupted. "Sorry, no, I'd love to. Just not used to the, ah…attention I s'pose."

"Ah," Isabeau replied with a nod. "Back here then? Say…next Monday? Can't keep avoiding my responsibilities at home, much as I love to."

"Monday sounds good," he said, digging his hands into his pockets. "But not here. My parents aren't really fond of visitors."

Her mouth popped open to form a cute 'o' shape.

"And you let me in?! I could have gotten you in trouble!"

Remus waved her off. "You were soaked, and I'm a bit of a rebel."

"Now that's a bloody lie," Isabeau replied, pointing at him. He just laughed. "Well, you know where the library is. We'll meet there. Two on the dot. Don't be late."

He smiled softly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Isabeau made her way to her downtrodden bike, wiping the water off the seat and the basket that she gingerly placed her prized possession in.

"Try not to drop it again!" he called out as she took off, gaining a rather rude gesture in reply.

Remus didn't shut the door until she was well out of his sight, and even then, only did so because a breeze came by and threatened to blow the newspaper halfway down the hall. He stood there in the entryway for a while, just content, that was until a _woosh_ from the fireplace scared him half to death.

Lyall Lupin was standing in the living room, shaking the ash from his jacket. He had a bouquet of roses in his hand.

His timing could not have been better.

"Got off from the Ministry a little early today. Something about poltergeists getting in the plumbing again. Nasty habit of theirs. Never can get them to-" His father paused, glancing around the room. "Remus, why've you turned down all the pictures?"


	4. Growing Pains

"What do you mean you've never read Lord of the rings?"

Remus shrugged, his shoulders briefly lifting a book behind him. "I've read a lot of books. I'm bound to miss a few."

They were sitting on the floor in one of the fiction aisles, leaning against opposite bookshelves, their legs outstretched toward one another. Isabeau's did not make it very far, but Remus's comfortably rested on the shelf guard next to her.

"But it's Lord of the Rings," Isabeau emphasized. "Wizards and dragons and epic battles against legions of evil. It's good stuff."

Remus only smirked, shaking his head. "Let's just say I prefer my reading to be grounded in reality."

Isabeau stuck her tongue out at him. He'd gotten a lot cheekier now that the truth was out. She guessed he never got many chances at it, always afraid of his secret.

"Bit funny, all things considered," she teased, eliciting a sigh from him. Of course, she kept all that to a bare minimum in public, but there was something so bloody tempting about it that she was constantly fighting with herself. He blushed far too easily – as did she, a fact she was vehemently ignoring – and it was all too tempting to coax the little shades of red out.

"You're not going to stop, are you?" he asked, only half serious.

"You're going to regret getting to know me."

"Never."

Well, now he was blushing again, only this time not of her making. Which was fine, she supposed, because she had a feeling she was doing it too. The only time she'd ever blushed for a boy was in the reference section of this very library, and here Remus had her doing it like it was bloody commonplace.

She could hear her mother cackling somewhere.

"Am I running some sort of bed and breakfast here?" Margaret asked, interrupting the quiet. She stood at the end of the aisle, a pile of children's books in her arms, and a stern, but breaking, look on her face. "Would you like some pillows too? Bit of room service?"

"Tea would be nice," Isabeau teased, flipping through a mystery novel she'd picked off the shelf. "Maybe some biscuits too. Missed breakfast this morning."

Remus, however, was on his feet in an instant. He was, she noticed, not the teasing sort unless he really knew the person. It took her knowing his darkest secret for him not to flinch like she'd hit him at everything he'd said. He didn't like conflict, or anything that could lead him to any sort of trouble with someone.

It made her sad, watching him walk on eggshells. He didn't deserve that.

Sometimes, she found herself wondering what he'd be like if he wasn't a werewolf. Probably a gobshite like all the rest, and they'd have never met.

It had made her briefly grateful that he was one, and she couldn't quite forgive herself for that.

"At least someone has manners 'round here," Margaret noted as Remus went to grab the books from her. "Best not get your hopes up about that one. She's as stubborn as they come."

"And you love me for it," Isabeau replied, flipping another page. "Knew it was the wife. They always throw their lives away when their husband is having an affair."

Margaret huffed. "You best not be trying to get him into that Tolkien nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Isabeau bolted upright. She knew she was playing right into the woman's trap, and she fell for it every time. "How many of your precious authors can claim they created their own language, hmm?"

They walked to the far end of the library, Remus just keeping the books balanced, not helping when Isabeau kept nearly bumping into him. She gave him an apologetic look and took some books from his pile to make up for it.

"Not many," Margaret admitted, pushing some out of place book back onto the shelf. "But they don't have those silly little magical notions either."

"Have you actually read Shakespeare?" Isabeau asked, dropping her books on the desk in a dramatic fashion. Remus was far more careful. "The ghost of Hamlet's father? Macbeth's witches? The entirety of a Midsummer Night's Dream?"

"All allegory."

" _Allegory_ ," Isabeau spat, causing Remus to grin widely. He was enjoying this. "Not everything has to be a bloody metaphor for sexual oppression to be of significance."

Margaret blanched, checking to see that they were alone before smacking her with a copy of _Children's Fairytales_.

"Have you no shame?"

"Have you ever known me to have any? _This_ is all you," Isabeau teased, smirking as she gestured to herself. Margaret couldn't help but smile too. They were too much alike.

Remus was watching them, very much the third wheel of the conversation, but he clearly did not mind. A hint of a smile had remained on his face.

"Get on, you two," Margaret chided, lightly shoving Isabeau away. "Stop spending all day in the library."

Isabeau gasped. "It's like I don't even know you."

They hadn't had much more to do anyway. She'd already convinced Remus to borrow her books – and gave him a not-so-subtle threat over not returning them – but once she'd sat on the ground, Isabeau was resigned to not move until forced to. Remus might have allowed them to stay until the library closed, although her stomach would have motivated her to get up at some point.

Speaking of…

"Do you like chocolate, Remus?" Isabeau asked as they left the building.

"Is that a serious question?"

"I like to check!" Isabeau admitted, hands up. She leaned over to whisper. "Dogs aren't supposed to have it after all."

"Unbelievable," Remus replied, searching the heavens for help, but there was a smile just below the surface, quickly teased out by her maniacal giggles.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not, but you could let me finish first," Isabeau continued, nudging him.

They were walking further into the city where little shops lined the street, bakeries, antique stores, and the like, out to take advantage of the vacation season. Tourists had flocked the area, oooing and awing at the picturesque cottages with their green backdrop. It tended to be unnerving watching people clamor to see something she lived in, but the money was good. She'd spent a whole day charging for pictures once and bought herself a radio. Her mother had given her a verbal lashing she'd never forget, but her father just laughed.

"Please tell me to shut it if I'm taking it too far. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"As opposed to what you normally do?"

She shoved him again as he laughed.

"No, it's fine," he continued as they walked along. The sun was out that day, warm and welcoming. It was turning out to be quite the pleasant summer. "It makes it all feel…normal. I guess."

Isabeau felt briefly ashamed. It wasn't that she was bored in her small town, but some part of her really did wish for excitement in her life. One doesn't read as many books as she did and still find themselves content with mediocrity. She was, perhaps, a little _too_ attracted to the idea of knowing someone as special as Remus. Was he simply her means of escaping the day-to-day?

But when she looked over at the soft smile on his face as they passed through the crowd, Isabeau safely decided there was more to it than that.

"Well, here's to normalcy then," Isabeau declared, hooking her arm through his as she turned them into an ice cream parlor.

And there it was: the red tinge crawling up his neck.

See, that never grew old.

Isabeau emerged again sometime later with her small cone in hand. At some point while they waited in the crowded space, she and Remus had been separated by the throng of tourists. She'd admittedly left him to his fate and decided to give him five minutes before launching a rescue mission.

Of course, she'd stepped out to a far less desirable image: Tommy and his goons.

"Just one nice day, that's all I ask for," she grumbled, straightening as they approached her. "The hell do you want, Tommy?"

"What you doing with him?" he asked, his tough guy voice on full parade.

_Oh for the love of-_

"Havin' an ice cream. You've got eyes, haven't you?" Isabeau replied, waving the tiny cone in his face before taking a bite. She'd better finish it all now before she shoved it onto his face.

"With the freak?" Marcus asked, crossing his arms.

"The freak? Really? Original go there, Marcus, well done. Just because his vocabulary includes words with more than two syllables doesn't make him a freak." She raised a finger in Randall's direction. "I hear you spout one word about communism, I _will_ drop you. Don't ask how. Use your imagination."

Tommy drew uncomfortably close, but Isabeau stood her ground. "He's not someone you should be around."

"Not someone I should-! Listen here, knobhead," Isabeau started, shoving Tommy back. "Just because you snogged me once, doesn't mean you get to lay claim to me. I'm not your girl; I'm barely your friend."

Tommy actually had the nerve to look offended by that. Maybe Marcus and Randall were too thick to care otherwise, but his definition of friendship wasn't something she much cared for, at all. It demanded he be in the right at all times, and any attempts at doing otherwise were punished accordingly.

"You want to talk about people I shouldn't be around? Let's start with you. Remus doesn't throw my books around for fun, he doesn't knock me off my bike, and he sure as hell doesn't mock my interests, and that's just from _this_ month!"

It was clearly Tommy was growing uncomfortable with the confrontation. They'd drawn a small crowd of tourists. Eyes averted her gaze every time she turned her head, but it didn't bother her much. Wasn't her reputation up in the air.

"That was just a bit of fun, Bo," he weakly replied.

"Well, it's not fun, Tommy! It hasn't been since we were ten! And it wasn't even then, but I didn't have anyone other than you blockheads to do anything with!"

"Is everything alright?"

Remus always had excellent timing, didn't he?

Marcus stepped forward, but Isabeau held her hand out. It would be the only warning she'd give him.

"Perfectly fine, Remus," she replied, turning to her actual friend. "Let's go."

It was as she turned to leave that she felt someone grab her wrist, attempting to stop her. She didn't even hesitate, turning on her assailant and punching them.

Tommy stumbled back, stunned. Isabeau blinked. She should have known it was him – and some part had – but she was still utterly surprised that she'd done it. Her spats with the boys had always gotten physical – like the other day – but this was something else. Something had severed, she could feel it.

Good riddance.

"Let's go," Isabeau said, grabbing Remus's hand and leading him away.

He didn't say anything for a long time, allowing Isabeau to lead them through the crowds until they were on the outskirts of town. Never mind that she'd left her bike at the library. Everyone knew it was hers.

"Asking if you're alright is probably a stupid question," Remus started quietly, testing the waters. "But you're crying and I-"

"Am I?" Isabeau blurted, rubbing her hands across her face. "Bloody hell…I'm such a woman."

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know."

"What? Being a woman?" Isabeau replied, her ill-timed humor rearing its ugly head. "Because I'm starting to think there is."

Remus couldn't help but grin at that, walking a little closer to her, their arms gently brushing. "With crying. We all need to do it sometimes."

"But I don't even know what I'm crying for! All I did was punch a bastard for being his namesake."

"Tommy was your friend," Remus said softly, remembering the argument. He'd been there when she'd mentioned the snogging. He imagined that one party punching the other officially ended any speculation about their feelings for each other, but a small voice in his head pried away at his surety nonetheless. What was a werewolf next to someone who, well, wasn't?

"Some friend he was. You've been better to me in the last couple weeks than he ever was, and that includes the whole wolfy bit."

His grin was short-lived. "We make do with what we can. Sometimes, you just can't help who you grow attached to."

Isabeau snorted, but said nothing else.

They walked in silence for some time, not moving particularly fast. Every now and again, a car would pass by and honk, and Isabeau would half-heartedly wave. She seemed to know everyone in the area, a fact Remus found himself slightly jealous of. He often wondered what it would be like to stay in a place long enough to know everyone. The closest thing he had was Hogwarts, but his seventh year was rapidly approaching, and then where would he be?

It was the sort of thought that made him panic at night.

Distracting himself, Remus glanced over at Isabeau. She was looking straight ahead, mouth set in a firm line, not an inch of her relaxed in the slightest. It didn't sit well with him. She was supposed to be the carefree girl who got stuck in the rain and rambled despite having nothing to say.

He looked down at her hands, watching them clench and release over and over.

"Does your hand hurt?" he asked.

Isabeau stopped in her tracks and bent at the waist, cupping the offended digit against her. "So much."

He couldn't help but laugh at her sudden reaction, the volume only increasing when she shot a glare over her shoulder. The betrayal on her face was too adorable for him to feel bad about it.

"Let me see it," Remus said, offering his hand.

Straightening, Isabeau gingerly placed her right hand in his. She hadn't hesitated in the slightest, and Remus was acutely aware of the fact as he pressed her knuckles between two of his fingers. Her hand was so much smaller, but it was rougher, calloused from a life of farm work. He remembered her comment about carrying sheep, and smirked in amusement.

For her part, Isabeau winced once in a while, but was otherwise still, fully concentrated on her hand as if something would happen to it if she looked away.

"Doesn't feel like anything is broken."

"Are you an expert on that then?" Isabeau asked with a smirk.

Remus shook his head, keeping a hold on her hand. "You're not the only one who's grown up with bellends. Although, broken bones tend to be one of the better outcomes."

"If it's those three I met earlier, I don't doubt it."

He chuckled. "The very same."

Briefly, Remus wondered how Isabeau would do with them. James and Sirius wouldn't stand a chance against her. She'd take every hit they dealt and throw it back at them tenfold, but she'd easily go along with their antics as well. She would be kinder to Peter than the others, and Lily would adore her. It was so easy to picture her nestling into the little life he had, as if she was made for it, lack of magic aside.

"Am I going to get my hand back any time soon?"

Remus blinked, quickly relinquishing his hold on Isabeau. She smiled mischievously – James and Sirius indeed – and turned back to the road, ambling away until his wits returned to him and he caught up.

* * *

"Are you named for the Roman Remus?" he heard Isabeau's voice ask above him. "Son of Mars, brother of Romulus, was raised by a _wolf_."

"Not that I'm aware of."

Another week had passed, and the two had taken to spending a couple hours together in various places. Sometimes the library, once in his garden. That day they were in the woods behind her home, just within the tree line, the outline of her house still visible.

Isabeau had apparently grown bored of sitting normally, ditching Remus and the comfortable blanket she'd laid out at the base of a tree for its branches instead. She was currently stretched out along one that crossed just above him, her silhouette reminding him of a cat warming itself in the sun. There _had_ been a book in her possession, but he could no longer see it. He suspected she lost it and was too proud to admit it just yet.

"And did you know lupine literally means 'wolf-like?'" Isabeau continued, somehow turning over on the branch without falling. A leaf fell into his copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_. "I mean, it's not quite Lupin, but it's awfully close."

"I have a very unfortunate name, I know," Remus replied, lightly tossing the book aside. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree. There was a throbbing in his temples. It was only bound to get worse as the day went on.

"I mean, it's not a bad name. I think it suits you rather nicely," Isabeau said, sounding a little further away. "Not because of the wolf thing, mind you. I just think it fits regardless. Can't picture myself calling you Frank or Bobby or something like that. It's just too…"

"Normal?"

He heard her sigh. "Now I've gone and made myself sound like a prick. Again."

Remus smirked, settling in.

Of course, Isabeau's discovery of his strange name's origins wasn't the first time he'd heard of it, and it probably would not be the last. There'd been long stretches of his early school years trying to figure out the meaning of it all. Was it fate or some cruel joke by the universe? Surely in a world full of magic, there had to be something involved, but as with most things surrounding his illness, there were no answers, and he was left with setting it aside to puzzle over during random moments.

"Are you okay?"

His eyes opened, seeing little more than the green of hers. Somehow, Isabeau had dropped from the tree without him noticing. Had he fallen asleep?

"I…no," he admitted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "It's just that…tomorrow night…"

"Is a full moon," Isabeau finished, realizing. She sat down across from him, gently placing her hand on his knee. "It affects you so far out?"

"Usually further. I felt like rubbish yesterday."

Now she smacked that knee. "Remus! You let me drag you bicycling into the countryside!"

"I had fun if that helps."

She bit her lip, looking down. "A little."

They sat there for a moment, silent. Remus was painfully aware that Isabeau's hand was still on his knee, warm to the touch. She did that a lot, he realized. Gentle, friendly touches, things that reminded him that she was indeed there and not some figment of his imagination. He didn't know if she did it for his benefit, or if that's just how she was as a person, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

"What does it feel like?" she asked quietly, her gaze remaining on the blanket.

He sighed. "Like something wants out."

A monster clawing at him from the inside, ripping him apart slowly. Sometimes, he was used to the sensation and hardly noticed it. Others, it haunted him for up to a week prior, nearly to the point of immobility. When he was a child, he had cried endlessly, and his mother would sit with him all the while, a pained look on her face. Parents were supposed to be able to help their children when they suffered, and there wasn't a thing she could do.

He'd stopped crying for her sake.

"Does it…does it hurt?"

"Every time."

Remus felt Isabeau squeeze his knee. She managed to look up at him then, eyes wide and full of emotion. It made his chest feel heavy.

"I can't control myself when it happens," he found himself admitting. "But I remember everything after. I remember you, and the fear in your eyes, but you stood your ground despite that."

Isabeau smiled softly. "Well, it's like I said. I'm a bigger danger to myself."

He watched her for a moment, really taking her in. Her hair practically glowed in the sunlight, but it was unkempt and wild, a perfect reflection of her personality.

Had she been born with magic, they would have been in the same year, and undoubtedly the same house. There wasn't a more perfect example of a Gryffindor than Isabeau, with her fierce loyalty and inability to back down from a fight.

She would have been popular, he decided, friends with students from every house, and she'd have been a beater on the quidditch team. But her favorite class would have been Care of Magical Creatures, maybe even Herbology. She worked with her hands, and didn't need a wand to win her battles.

They would have never talked, unless it was for class. She'd know his face in passing, be aware of his name, but he would not been in that privileged circle of friends. He was the outsider, the quiet one, the kind not made for people like her.

And if she had ever learned the truth about him…

"Why don't you care about what I am?" he asked, voice cracking slightly. He'd probably asked her this a dozen times by this point, but it was never good enough.

Isabeau looked as if she was going to make a joke, but her smile faded quickly. She pulled away from him, drawing her knees up to herself, a contemplative look on her face.

"My dad was in the second world war, but he doesn't talk about it, outside of the occasional joke. I used to ask him, and he'd get this distant look on his face, and suddenly he wasn't my dad anymore. He was someone else. He said 'never ask me that again, Bo,' and walk away.

"But asking me to not ask is as good as saying 'learn everything you can,' and so I did. I've found things of his and I've heard things from his mates. I don't have a complete picture, but I've got enough pieces.

"He's a good man, my dad. A bit bonkers sometimes, but it keeps life from being boring. He's a good worker and a good husband and a good neighbor, but he…he did things in the war. He was the dependable soldier, the one everyone knew would get the job done, and in order to do so, he had to do things that would be viewed by society as unspeakable, disturbing, belonging to a person who had no right to exist outside of a prison cell. Instead, they called him a hero."

Her green eyes were darker when she looked at him, serious, full of an emotion he could not quite place. "I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that what the world forces us to be isn't who we are. My father would never have done those things if he hadn't gone to war, and you, Remus, don't go out of your way to harm people, so why should I judge you for something outside of your control? You didn't choose to be this way, and I know if you could stop, you would. That's all there is to it, really."

Remus did not know what to say. He was overwhelmed by her words. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and there was a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. He ran a hand through his hair, processing it all.

"I…"

A loud huff caught his attention. Both he and Isabeau turned to The Major's large form stalking toward them. The wolfhound stopped before them, sniffed at him once, then proceeded to lie on top of Isabeau, who immediately broke down into laughter as she was crushed by the massive hound.

"Major, you miserable beast," Isabeau cried out, her voice strained, but she was patting the creature with her free hand. "S'pose that means dad's home. Better sneak you out of here before a second member of the Dunn family fancies using you for target practice."

The Major was watching him the entire time Isabeau spoke. Remus had to wonder if he had more to fear from her dog than her father.

"Alright, get off, you oaf," Isabeau mumbled, groaning as she shoved the wolfhound off her. The Major snorted, and trotted back toward the house.

She stood then, brushing herself off, and offering a hand to him. Remus took it, honestly surprised by her strength as she all but yanked him off the ground.

They walked in silence through the trees, purposely away from the house.

"Is there anything I can do for tomorrow?" Isabeau asked, looking up at him. "Can I help you in some way?"

"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do," he said, hands in his pockets, thoughts drifting to the Marauders. He wondered if Isabeau would do what they did, if she could. "Just…don't go investigating any strange noises, and I'll see you in a few days."

Isabeau didn't sleep the next night. She stayed up and stared out her window, watching for moving shadows under the light of the full moon.


End file.
